Suspiciously Quiet
by HecateA
Summary: These four students are not the ones from whom Minerva expects this kind of behaviour, but their motivations to create a little bit of peace and quiet come as no surprise. Oneshot.


**Author's Note: **Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. Please do not sue me, I can barely pay tuition.

**Hogwarts: **Assignment #9, Childcare Task #3 Write about someone with a sensitivity to one of the following: light, sound, touch, taste, or smell.

**Warnings:** NA

* * *

**Stacked with:** Hogwarts; Fall Bingo

**Individual Challenge(s): **Black Ribbon; Black Ribbon Redux; Clowder (Y); Gryffindor MC (x4); Marauders Tales; Bow Before the Blacks; Seeds; Minerva's Migraine; Old Shoes; Themes & Things A (Friendship); Themes & Things B (Protection); Themes & Things C (Blanket); Themes & Things D (Jumper); Themes & Things E (Quill); Neurodivergent; True Colours; Rian-Russo Inversion; Real Family; In a Flash; Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux

**Word Count:** 919

* * *

_**Fall Bingo**_

**Space (prompt): **2C (Cat)

* * *

**Suspiciously Quiet **

Some would call Minerva McGonagall overly suspicious. Others would call her experience.

Bottom line: Minerva had walked by an empty classroom that her third-year Gryffindor boys had taken over to study and it was quiet.

Too quiet.

She wondered what storm this calm was announcing and spent enough time wondering that the question seemed to answer itself: she had to pause her nightly rounds of the castle and investigate—perhaps even in human form. How she hated wandering the castle after hours when she was off-duty in human form. She inevitably ran into somebody convinced that they needed her immediate attention or assistance. Nobody bothered cats, after all.

Her footsteps padded by the soft toe pads of her feet, she made her way back to peer into the classroom. The sight before her was… well, confusing. There was Black, his hair pulled up in a high ponytail, the end of his quill absent-mindedly tickling his ear as he read—yes, as he read. And what appeared to be a schoolbook, no less!

Peter Pettigrew was going through what appeared to be flash cards with the names of poisons on one side and the recipes for their antidotes on the other. Whenever he got it right, Peter smiled to himself and put the card down the table. Sometimes, he looked at the other side, the corner of his mouth twitched, and he put the card back in his pile.

Then there was James Potter, who was carefully retracing a star chart from his Astronomy textbook with a sharp focus and an attention to detail Minerva had seen in him only rarely (and only in cases involving Quidditch, thus far).

Remus Lupin was just about the only one acting in character; he was sitting with the brick of a _History of Magic _textbook that Binns kept assigning before him. Every now and then his eyes fluttered and his chin dipped towards his chest. Minerva was not blind to the afghan thrown across his lap and the way the sleeves of his jumper were pulled over his hands, as if he was trying to embox himself in a cocoon. What day of the month was it, exactly..? It didn't take long for her to remember; ever since the little boy had been sorted into her house, McGonagall had kept a close eye on the lunar calendar.

It was Potter who eventually spotted her and recognized the markings around her eyes or the stripes along her tail. When he saw her his eyes popped open and he put his quill down—very carefully—and came to meet her outside the room. She transformed back into her regular form.

"What's this, then?" McGonagall asked.

"Shh," James said. Then he made a face and spoke in a low voice. "Sorry, professor, didn't mean to shush you there. We asked Professor Baggins before using his classroom, promise."

"And what exactly are you using his classroom for?" McGonagall asked. "Is the Common Room not to your liking or is it simply too close to the Prefects who are doing their damndest to keep you out of trouble?"

"It's too loud," James said. His eyes flitted towards Remus and, self-consciously, he ran a hand through his hair and tugged. He looked at McGonagall very seriously, like sometimes she forgot he could be. "It's getting close to that time of the month—Remus' hearing gets more and more sensitive as it gets closer, when it's coming..."

McGonagall looked back into the class.

"I did not know that about Mr Lupin," she told James. She found herself adopting his softer tone.

Technically she hadn't known that the lot of them were aware about Mr Lupin's condition either. Of course, she'd had her suspicions. They all did. As the four boys had grown more and more intertwined as they'd grown up, like one of Pomona's climbing plants, the likelihood of them _not _knowing diminished, after all...

She elected to ignore this new tidbit of information.

And she and Potter, despite his overwhelmingly morronic track records, got along. He had an affinity for both her subject and her favourite game. He asked good questions, kept her on her toes, could occasionally be quite funny when it wasn't her day that he was ruining—and he was not a bad boy. This was a case in point.

Looking into the classroom behind him, she saw that Remus Lupin had finally fallen asleep in his chair. Peter quietly slipped a bookmark in the textbook to mark his friend's page. Black tugged at the blanket to gently reposition it.

"It's his hearing first, but then smells and tastes get to him," James said. "He says it's like his senses get ready to change early—but the hearing's the worst and it lasts the longest and it's the hardest to avoid… there's really not much to be done, Professor, but this helps."

She nodded. It bewildered McGonagall, some, that three of the most chaotic students to ever walk these halls were so keen to carve out a space for peace and quiet. Then again, it did not surprise her that they did and they could when sufficiently motivated.

"I will remind you to send Mr Lupin Madam Pomfrey's way should he require any support from a Healer," she told them. "And I don't imagine that I have to remind you that certain allowances may be revoked, should you by some thoughtless impulse decide to abuse them for another, more recreational, purpose…"

"Yes ma'am," James said. "Thank you ma'am. Permission to go back before we wake Remus up by talking, ma'am?"

"Permission granted," she smiled. She watched James creep back to his spot and then she shrank back down to the form of a cat to go on with her rounds—thankful, not for the firm time, that her changes came at her own will.


End file.
